Book of the Beastfolk
by potatomuffin88
Summary: Quill-Weave the author and Jobasha the bookseller were but minor footnotes in the adventures of heroes like the Nerevarine and the Hero of Kvatch. When Crassius Curio requests a mission be done by them, they find themselves in a world-spanning conspiracy in a fight involving mysterious organizations, authors across the world, and even some otherworldly entities.
1. A Meeting in Vivec

"Y-you are insane!" The Khajiit hissed at the Imperial. "The Mad-Cat has touched you!"

"I wouldn't mind another kind of cat touchin' me, tiger~"

" _Jer vara ma'I..._ " He muttered under his breath. "So you are a pervert and a madman in one package, yes…?"

"Look." The Argonian spoke. "I didn't make a trip all the way from Anvil to Vivec to have someone tell jokes. So you're not lying when you say you want to send _us,_ " She gestured a hand to herself and the Khajiit. "To quest like… like…"

"Yes?"

"The Hero of Kvatch!"

"The Nerevarine!"

Speaking at the same time, both the Argonian woman and the Khajiit man's gaze seemed to lose focus. The mature Imperial had seen that look many times. Those were the eyes of memory. The eyes of remembering people that would not leave their memories for a while yet dull enough that he could tell the two beastfolk needed effort to remember.

Crassius Curio hid his curiosity with a hearty laugh. "If I was telling jokes, I would not have gone through so much trouble as to send a letter as far as the southwest of Cyrodiil, my dear maiden," the two beastfolk could hear _maiden_ drawn out more than anything else. "What I'm requesting for you both cannot be done by usual mercenaries. House Hlaalu cannot afford to see me send our own members, as it can be misinterpreted greatly by other Houses. I cannot trust many of those outside the law in Morrowind, as they are mostly against outlanders such as I. Not to mention both of your... bibliophile expertise, in this field. If you wish to return home, my dear maiden, I will provide transport back to Anvil along with compensation. As for you, tiger, I can provide a gift basket should you turn down my offer. I assure you both that if you take this job, you'll have no need of work ever again. I'll let you stew it over for the rest of the day, but necessity dictates that I must have my answer by tonight. I look forward to hearing your response. Ms. Nerethi?"

A Dunmer wearing netch leather armor walked in, holding open the door for the two beastfolk, the Khajiit could have sworn he heard her whisper apologies as she guided them through the maze that was a house in Vivec. They were silent until they walked out of Curio manor, and the moment they entered Hlaalu Plaza, the two looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"B-by the moons!" The Khajiit guffawed. "I can't believe this one was Khajiit's neighbour for so long!"

The Argonian attempted to stifle her laughter, but she still displayed more emotion than the Khajiit had seen from any Argonian he'd met. "He's exactly as I imagined the author of _The Lusty Argonian Maid_ to be! Ha… I need to tell Casta all about this when I go home tomorrow…"

"E-er… There are eyes on these two." The Khajiit said, looking around Hlaalu Plaza. While House Hlaalu was the most progressive house, there a few Dunmer in the Hlaalu Canton of Vivec who stared shiftily at the two beastfolk, which in Morrowind, meant trouble could soon follow. "Perhaps we should part ways. Khajiit wishes this one well?"

The Argonian took the Khajiit's hand and shook it. "I... This one wishes you well too."

The Khajiit snickered at her awful Khajiiti accent, which put a smile on her face as she turned to leave. She made a step, maybe two away from the front of Curio Manor, but a quick tug revealed the Khajiit still holding her hand. In the instant she turned, the Khajiit's face turned from politeness to curiosity. The Argonian was about to make as much of a face as she could, but the Khajiit spoke.

"…The perverted one calls Argonian _'Bibliophile,'_ as he does Khajiit. What does this word mean?"

"I-it… er… It means someone who loves books." She stared at her apparent fellow bibliophile. "He says we're both fond of reading."

The Khajiit released his hand, apologetic at the odd gesture. "This one is not familiar with the words of the Imperials, but… yes. This one supposes he is a Khajiit of books."

"Are you now? You see, I'm an author. Not well known, but I'm happy to meet another… heh. bibliophile."

The two shared another snicker and looked around at many shifty red eyes on them.

"Perhaps," The Khajiit coughed. "There is place beastfolk may speak in secret, away from suspicious glares of unhappy Dunmer. This one knows a place near home, not far from here. A cornerclub - tavern or bar is perhaps more familiar? Words and drink make good bedfellows, yes?"

"That... Well, at least my trip won't be a complete waste." The Argonian said. "If you don't mind me asking, what's your name?"

"This one is Jobasha," he purred, smiling back at his new acquaintance. "And what may Jobasha call you?"

"Nice to meet you Jobasha." She chirped. "I'm Quill-Weave. So where's this... _'cornerclub,'_ as you call it?"


	2. An Offer They Couldn't Refuse

"Jobasha has… mixed feelings on the Black Shalk Cornerclub." Jobasha said, his voice echoing lightly in his cup of bitter Greef. "Good drink, okay food, bad people. A friend of Jobasha's encountered trouble with thugs here, years ago."

"Did they now?" Quill-Weave said, displaying caution in the new place she was in. Jobasha had ordered some Mazte for her – a sweet drink easy for anyone to get accustomed to before the hard stuff. "And this is made with rice?"

" _Saltrice_. Fermented saltrice, to be exact. The berries of Morrowind are bitter," he swirled his cup of comberry greef, "yet the simple wheats of Morrowind can be made into the sweetest things."

"Hah. Nice line. I might steal that."

"For your books, Jobasha assumes? This one would love to read your works. Perhaps sell them, if Jobasha enjoys what he reads, yes?"

Their laughter wasn't out of place in the Cornerclub. Several other patrons far drunker laughed at things similarly as small as their teasing.

Quill-Weave took another sip. She could get used to this stuff, she thought. "Depends what you like, I suppose. How interested are you in crime works?"

Jobasha's tail flickered for a moment, yet his face seemed its usual passive expression. No fooling Quill-Weave, she thought. She knew an interested reader when she saw one. "Go ooooon…?" The Khajiit purred.

"My works are no mere fantasy," Quill-Weave said with mock-poise, a motion aided by unfamiliar alcohol, "for they spill the stories of those who suffer in the underground of society! Daring criminals, thrilling heists, misunderstood lowlifes, dark secrets, and sometimes a tinge of forbidden love! Though… the last bit may be one of my author friend's influence."

"Hah! You need not tell Jobasha about lowlifes and secrets. A Khajiit living in Morrowind often becomes acquainted with both."

Jobasha returned to his drink, interrupted by Quill-Weave asking, "Is it… fine, if you tell me some more sometime? A work set in Morrowind would be a fun little exercise."

"Perhaps," He replied, "If we meet again."

There was a silence between the two as they sipped their respective poisons. Jobasha was momentarily distracted by the ambience of the cornerclub. The new bartender working the bar after Raril left Vivec, the smells of comberry stews and houndmeat, the laughs and jeers between conversations, and the unmistakeable presence of criminals. The silence was broken by Quill-Weave, after downing her drink.

"Why do you think Crassius chose us to go to Skyrim? I'm certain none of us are acquainted with the cold, and I'm sure beastfolk like us aren't going to get a warmer welcome there than in Morrowind."

"Unless I see a Nord with Khajiiti slaves, Jobasha highly doubts that," He chuckled. "Something to do with books. Even still, these two only sell and write books. If Crassius is offering a small fortune in septims, then Jobasha thinks the job is too dangerous for his skills."

"True, true." Quill-Weave murmured. "Though he doesn't seem to have the soundest of mind, if we're going by his books and… well, him in general. His works are pretty…"

Seeing Quill-Weave struggle to find words, Jobasha coughed. "Yes, many are familiar with his works here. It is much too uncomfortable for Jobasha to sell them to fine customers."

"It's not as if we need the money, right? I mean, authors have an unpredictable pay, and I do some side training."

"Exactly. Jobasha's store does very well. It holds many precious books." Jobasha took a sip of his drink, muttering in the cup. _"And business from prophesized heroes pays many coins…"_

"Hmm?"

"Ah, nothing." He chuckled. "So these two have no reason to venture to Skyrim then."

The two made lighter conversation the rest of their time, discussing mostly favorite books and authors. Discussion came up about the beastfolk situation in Morrowind, and as appalled as Quill-Weave was, she made it a point to study it further for writing research. She could picture the story now. Escaped slaves, fighting with tooth and nail (Literally) for their way out of the plantations of a crooked Dunmer slaver. She was about to set on a name for the main character when Jobasha stood up.

"This one is done with drinks. He must admit, this was not a complete waste of a day off." He gave a smile, revealing his pointed teeth. "Where is Quill-Weave staying for the night, if it is okay for Jobasha to ask?"

"Well… Mr. Curio's letter said he would provide lodging should I accept his offer. If I turned it down, I was planning to take a boat to Ebonheart and stay there. I didn't anticipate staying so long in Vivec, so I'm afraid my scheduled boat is long gone by now." She smiled. "I suppose I'm sleeping at the Black Shalk tonight!"

"Aha… no." Jobasha put some coins on the counter, sliding them to the bartender. "Tonight, you stay at Jobasha's. He insists."

"I-I'm flattered, Jobasha, but-" Before she could finish, the bookseller had pushed her out the door of the Black Shalk.

* * *

Quill-Weave sat on cushions on the floor of Jobasha's store, surrounded by furniture and bookshelves and by a low table with Jobasha and another Argonian. Huleeya, she thinks Jobasha called him. Sipping a tea with a flavor unlike any in Cyrodiil, she listened intently on Huleeya's current story.

"…I don't remember using transportation, but there I was. Alone." Huleeya stared at both Jobasha and Quill-Weave, an intense look in his eyes. _"Naked."_

Quill-Weave was spellbound, but Jobasha brushed it off. "Jobasha is sure it was the High Elf from Huleeya's last story. Never get on a mage's bad side. So… Quill-Weave, Jobasha hopes this place is suitable for a night's rest, at least until you return to Cyrodiil. It is comfy, no?"

"Yes, very! Though," Quill-Weave peeped out the corner of her eye at the bonemold-armored figure, staring straight ahead. "Are guards in stores common?"

"They are. It is awkward, having your place of business and place of residence be one. Jobasha could not sleep for a month properly with guard there." He smiled. "Of course, this guard is dutiful, and is a friend to Jobasha and Huleeya. He is stalwart now only because stranger is in his home."

"Makes sense, I guess. Hey, what's in this tea?" Quill-Weave held up her teacup, eyeing the liquid. "It's very... _different_."

Huleeya picked up the teapot, beaming proudly. "Roobrush, from the Western Gash region of Vvardenfell! Good for bolstering the body against poisons."

 **" _Not that we'd need any protection."_** , Huleeya chuckled in Jel. Jobasha raised his eyebrow at the two snickering Argonians.

"Well, Jobasha likes to be safe. Who knows if one slips poison into his drink at the Black Shalk. Khajiit and Argonians make many enemies in Vvarden- are you writing this down?"

"Yes, this is brilliant!" Quill-Weave quickly wrote a sentence in her notepad, using a quill she'd seemingly gotten from no where.

"It is… brilliant if Jobasha is poisoned?"

"Hm? Oh, no, not that! This is just a good idea. Perfect for a book, drinking poison retardant tea."

"Ah." Jobasha smiled. "So any ideas on that book set in Morrowind yet?"

Quill-Weave yawned, or whatever Jobasha could equate to the Argonian equivalent. "Not yet. Perhaps it'll come to me later. Maybe I'll come back to Morrowind to do some research. Right now, I'm pretty tired. Where am I-"

"Ah! Of course! Let Jobasha show you your bed for the night!"

* * *

"Mr. Curio." The Dunmer woman said, entering Crassius Curio's private chambers.

Crassius smiled, turning to her with a twinkle in his eye. "Ah, Bronosa! Have the two reconsidered?"

"I… um…" Bronosa Nedalor, in her time spent at Curio manor, learned that whatever shenanigans Crassius did, it was best to take it in stride. Ignoring the naked orc model, she faced Crassius' paint-stained face with her usual cold demeanor. "I've recently exchanged letters with Phintias. He-"

"How's our contact in the Imperial City doing? Did he and Jensine finally get together?"

"What? E-er… He did mention a Jensine, yes, but-"

"Excellent! We should send them a gift basket!"

"Mr. Curio, please." Bronosa cleared her throat. "Phintias found this in his new inventory."

Bronosa handed Crassius a book. Obviously of higher quality make, it was a sterile mix of blue and gray. On the front were simple, map-like illustrations of pine forests. Curio smirked when he read the spine of the book.

" _Guide to Falkreath"_ He chuckled, looking upwards at no one in particular. _"By Alessia Ottus._ So they're already in Skyrim…"

"Sir?"

"Bronosa, dear? Find our two lovely friends," Crassius put down the book and paintbrush, and picked up a quill and parchment. "Check that sweet tiger's home first, down in the Foreign Quarter. This time, tell them that time is of the essence, and that my improved offer is only going to last until the day after tomorrow."

He handed his letter to Bronosa. "But sir, if they don't accept-"

"They will. They won't be interested in gold, so I'm gonna offer something more... personal. Off you go, dear."

Bronosa nodded her head, setting out to leave the manor. Crassius took a deep breath, leaning back on his painting stool. He stroked his beard as his smile dropped into a contemplative face.

Before his silence reached the 3 minute mark, the orc woman spoke. "C-can I use the bathroom now?"

"Ah! I almost forgot. Not quite yet, my little kiwi! Now, I have your upper portion down. Would you like to be riding a horse, or a guar?"

* * *

Huleeya made breakfast the next morning. Traditional Dunmer cuisine mixed with familiar recipes from black marsh. An Argonian soup, many vegetables replaced with local vegetables like ash yams and canis root.

The raw goose egg was still there, thankfully.

"So, this one knows her way to Ebonheart?"

"I'll book another ride there," Quill-Weave said to Jobasha, who eschewed Huleeya's breakfast entirely for some more palatable cheese. "From there I'm sailing to mainland Morrowind, and then I'm booking a carriage back to Anvil."

"Why not use a Guild Guide?"

"Argh! I tried, but they don't do that in Cyrodiil, so there's no way to get from here to the Anvil Mages Guild! Imagine if I could though. I could make that visit I had to cancel…"

"Visit?"

"E-er… A friend of mine. Casta Scribonia. Another author. I suppose we're like a miniature book club." Quill-Weave sighed. "I'm not normally fond of her genre, but her works are divine! I'll bring some copies of both of our books next time I visit."

Jobasha's eyes widened, and his heart lifted. "Next time? This one plans to return?"

"Well, of course!" Quill-Weave smiled. "I wasn't joking about writing a book set in Morrowind. And besides, I wouldn't say hi to you once and dash off forever, now, would I?"

Jobasha tried to hide his lips curling into a feline smile. "Yes, Jobasha always has his home open for you!"

"But buy another bed, or at least a sleeping roll." Huleeya yelled from the fire, where he was boiling some tea. "You're like sleeping next to a fire atronach!"

"S-shut up Huleeya! _Ziss_ , you'll put ideas into our guest's head!"

"Given what Casta writes and who we talked to yesterday, I already have a few ideas." Quill-Weave snorted. "Well, I'll take a quick look around the canton for a moment. I want so see if I can get a souvenir before I head back to Anvil."

After warnings not to go too deep in the canton, Quill-Weave set out. Septims were used in Morrowind, which was good, though she was quite confused when some merchants asked for payment in drakes. Another thing she'd have to learn if she was going to write about escaped slaves of the Telvanni. Dunmeri language. After a good 30 minutes, alternating between the waistworks and the plaza above, Quill-Weave had herself some new toys. A chitinous dagger, made from bits of Morrowind's insects she could just imagine her main character making for himself. She'd gotten a helmet; one of funny-looking yet slightly unnerving boiled netch leather, with tinted goggles and a semblance of a respirator at the front. Unnerving enough for her antagonist to wear. A set of Dunmer clothing that complimented her scales later, and she headed back to Jobasha's Rare Books. Stopping short of knocking, she noticed an envelope tucked in between the door and the frame. Quality paper with a seal of… House Hlaalu.

"Oh _Xhuth…_ "

* * *

"So you'll agree to my new terms then?" Crassius beamed. The bookseller and the author beastfolk were rather distracted by the painting of a naked Orc riding a guar, but Crassius was focused solely on them. Crassius seemed pretty upset when he heard Bronosa just wedged the letter against the door when Quill-Weave told him how they'd got it.

"These two came to… discuss your terms." Jobasha said, folding his arms against his chest.

"Well, double pay to start. One favor from House Hlaalu, which is always good to have at your back. Some of my more exclusive works – not for sale mind you! They are meant to be shared with friends!"

"U-um… We can skip by that for now, thank you. What about what you mentioned in your letter?"

"Ah, that." Crassius cleared his throat with some Cyrodiilic Brandy. "House Hlaalu has been observing Cyrodiil with equal attention as Morrowind quite recently, ever since the event with the Nerevarine – the reason we chose you two, really."

Crassius continued as he handed two goblets to the beastfolk, Jobasha's left ear tilted and Quill-Weave squinting. "You've helped the Nerevarine out quite a bit, really. Sure, being a bookseller's boring, but imagine having the esoteric tomes the Neravarine needs to save Morrowind. _Progress of Truth,_ was it?"

"I-It was." Jobasha coughed, seeing Quill-Weave's astounded face.

"And our dear Argonian, you've had an encounter with the Hero of Kvatch on one point, yes?"

"Y-yes, but… it wasn't impressive." Seeing Jobasha stare in curiosity, she started to blush. "They… They caught me trying to poison a neighbour's rat horde. I'm not sure if that's adventurer material, really."

"Well, if not what you've done for the Hero of Kvatch, then your skills? Field research is your game, no? Not to mention your many contacts. Some powerful, many dangerous."

"I am a c-crime writer! Consorting with minor criminals helps be get into their mindset! More to the point, you were _spying_ on us?!"

"Well… Not spying. More like… _peeping_."

"By the moons, that sounds even worse!"

"Aside from that, you're a skilled acrobat and you know your way around the underground, and you're familiar with conspiracy yourself, tiger. Tie in the fact that you're both well acquainted with books, and I'd say you two are perfect for this little job of mine."

"Hmph… Jobasha is still not entirely convinced."

"Alright then, let's put it this way." Crassius chuckled. He stood up and went over to Jobasha, whispering in his ear. While Jobasha was clearly uncomfortable, the smell of Crassius' perfume offending his keen nose, his ear slowly perked up as his eyes glistened. Then, Crassius went over to Quill-Weave, and finding some difficulty with her ear holes, he whispered something that even Jobasha's feline ears could not detect. Quill-Weave's eyes glistened, and she licked her lips in contentment.

"So, I'm sure Skyrim doesn't sound so bad now, does it?"

* * *

The next day, the two set were sailing to the mainland. Jobasha had left the store – including the watering of Charles the Plant – to Huleeya. Quill-Weave was dressed in her normal, earth-toned Colovian clothing, and Jobasha had donned his usual blue Dunmeri shirt and brown slacks. Their winter clothing was packed in their packs, along with Quill-Weave's blank journals and Jobasha's books for sale. Together, the two waited until the ship reached the shore. They waited with reluctance, but also excitement.


	3. Boat Sickness

Alessia Ottus was a gods-fearing woman, perhaps to the point where she feared little else. She did not fear the heathen gods of the Dunmer, the primitive superstition of the Argonians or the Bosmer. She did not fear the barbarous orcs, the conniving beastfolk, and least of all the brutish Nords surrounding her in Whiterun

She ate her food – a safe meal of bread and cheese – and analyzed her surroundings. Unlike Falkreath, Whiterun was acceptable. It was the trade city of Skyrim, and for as unimpressive as it was compared to any city in Cyrodiil, its markets seemed sufficient to support that claim. During her austere dinner, she wrote down notes in her parchment bundles.

" _Tree: Blessed by Kynareth?"_ She murmured out loud. _"Inquire more from the temple. Strong worship of Talos – very good sign as is present across Skyrim. Houses are threadbare as always but better than-"_

"Are you havin' any more with those rations, lass?" The barmaid said, looking at Alessia's meal with a tinge of pity. Typical Nord woman: Blonde, tall, odd accent.

Alessia turned her nose up. "Tamika Vintage, if you have it, I suppose."

"Tamika? We specialize more in beers, ales, meads, drinks more in those lines." Seeing Alessia's scrunched up face, she bowed lightly. "Though… I'll see if we have any wines, miss."

Alessia sighed. Skyrim was a cold and hostile land, and she was only halfway to her destination. She'd have to stock up on winter clothing. The warmth of the central firepit in the tavern seemed so weak compared to the warmth of her home city. If any good was to come out of her trip here, she'd have purified Tamriel a bit further, and she'd have written enough guides to dissuade the good people of Cyrodiil to avoid Skyrim.

Seeing the barmaid return, she decided to put away her research for the night. She'd need a good rest before her trip on the road north. Sipping the wine – not of high quality in a glass that indicated that wine wasn't served often here – she heard the barmaid talk.

"Winterhold?"

Alessia looked at her pack. It was half-opened as she packed away everything, revealing the symbol of a tri-spired castle on a book. The insignia of Skyrim's Northmost city.

"Yes? What of it?"

"Well… I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." The barmaid sighed, smiling. "Lots of Imperial folk headin' up to Skyrim to learn magic."

"L-learn magic?!"

"Mages Guild politics, you know. I don't know much but ever since Necromancy was banned, and especially after that business with the Gates, Winterhold's been pretty popular."

"… _Learn magic?!"_ Alessia Ottus coughed. "I… er… Hmph. Frankly, I'm rather insulted you'd believe me to be a mage. Well, as long as you're here, what else can you tell me about Winterhold?"

"E-er.. It's famous for the College. Magic institution, mostly free from politics bein' in such a remote city. Magic's far beyond my reach, miss. The Jarl's court wizard can tell you more."

Alessia thought for a moment. She'd known Winterhold had a big conglomerate of magefolk, but if they were outside the usual regulations of the Mages Guild, and if people flocked there after Necromancy was banned…

"Um... Miss Nord? Where might I find this... Court Wizard?"

* * *

"We left from Seyda Neen a day ago," Quill-Weave said, poring over a map. "By tomorrow night we're getting off at their supply stop in Blacklight, before they sail off to Solstheim."

Jobasha paced back and forth in the hold, his tail wrapped around his legs. There was not much room to do so, seeing as their current residence was a sequestered space in between crates and barrels in the lowest level of the ship. "Jobasha wonders why we are sleeping in the ship's hold. The Hlaalu are probably the richest of the Dunmer Houses. Surely, the perverted one could have arranged finer transport…"

Jobasha's cheeks suddenly puffed up, his claw to his mouth. Quill-Weave raised an eyebrow.

"Urgh... Jobasha also wonders why we must travel by nauseating boat. Can we not teleport there from the mage's guild?"

"To my knowledge, the Mages Guild doesn't have teleports." Quill-Weave replied. "To be fair, I don't have much friends to do with the Mages Guild, aside from this Khajiit I knew."

"Hmph. If these two traveled by small canoe - _across a river,_ I might add - there would be no issues with seasickness and... urgh..."

"I wouldn't question Crassius Curio's logic." Quill-Weave smiled. Suddenly, she smacked her head. "Gah, _Xhuth!_ I knew I forgot something!"

"What? Was it something important?"

"His autograph." Seeing Jobasha's puzzled face and tilted ear, she coughed. "Casta's a big fan of his works."

"You speak of this Casta a lot. Are you… Are her works good?"

"I suppose, if you're into that sort of stuff." Quill-Weave sighed, smiling. "I'd read Casta's works over Curio's any day…"

"Perhaps I can finally find your books in Winterhold?"

"O-Oh no, I highly doubt that! We're not the most well-known, especially in other provinces…" Quill-Weave thought for a while. "…Why are we going to Winterhold? Surely, there are other libraries and booksellers in Skyrim."

"You'd be surprised!" A voice bellowed from behind them. Quill-Weave's heart stopped for a moment and Jobasha found himself clinging to a ceiling post at the new arrival.

" _Rahjin Kodesh!"_ Jobasha exclaimed.

"Ah ah ah, this one had a hunch we had another Khajiit on board!" The newcomer smiled. He, too, was a Khajiit, dressed in more rugged clothing meant for the seas. His fur was matted and tousled by a lifetime of seabreeze. "This one is S'virr…" He said, rolling his tongue. "Captain of the Omenwedur Jr! At your service."

"W-well…" Quill-Weave coughed. "It's a pleasure to meet the captain. Another House-member of Hlaalu?"

"Ah, no… no… A friend, yes! An associate of House Hlaalu, their contact in Solstheim, and sometimes the Northeast of Skyrim, but not a member." S'virr smiled as Jobasha unclenched himself from the post, back onto his cot. "The Nords of Skyrim are not a culture of readers. Institutions of such nature are rare in the snowy land."

"Hmph. A shame." Jobasha murmured. "Most unfortunate. I had hoped to make a bit of profit."

"Not to say they are illiterate, of course. Many in Skyrim are fond of the written word. Their culture has simply branched to the ways of oral storytelling. Just like those in Black Marsh and Elsweyr, my beast brethren."

"Makes sense." Quill-Weave said. "So, you wouldn't happen to be able to shine some light on our mission here, would you? Crassius Curio isn't one for specific elaboration."

"Uh… S'virr vaguely remembers. Drop you off in Blacklight is S'vrr's biggest grasp. You two are fetching a book from Winterhold for him, S'virr believes. Seems simple enough, no?"

"Yes. And that is all Curio has told Quill-Weave and Jobasha."

"Well, maybe you two can mull over specifics over dinner. S'virr came to tell you that a meal has been prepared – freshly-caught slaughterfish!" Looking at the queasy Jobasha, he smiled. "Don't worry. A Khajiit gets used to it after a few years."

* * *

The crew of the Omenwedur Jr. was a lively, if small bunch of sailors. Discounting captain S'virr, it was mostly comprised of Imperials, Dunmer, and Nords. Quill-Weave couldn't find much of an interesting story here: S'virr simply purchased a bigger boat and named it after his first after his business transporting people and goods to and from Solstheim blew up, right around when Raven Rock was formed. She'd made a mental note to visit Solstheim one day.

Tearing into their Slaughterfish Steak (Jobasha's specially-requested to be a little raw), Quill-Weave found the atmosphere relaxing. The rocking of the waves on the boat and seabreeze on her scales couldn't quite compare to the feeling of being in the water herself, but she could understand how men and mer enjoyed seafaring.

Jobasha, on the other hand, curled up into a ball as he nibbled on his fish.

"Um… Jobasha, you feeling better?"

"Khajiit are meant for desert sands and moist lands. The sea is neither." He pointed a claw at the Khajiit captain, currently laughing with a drink in hand with his crew. "How does this one do it…" he hissed.

Quill-Weave chuckled. "You know, there's a thing hatchlings do when they're afraid to swim, just when they're starting."

"Argonian hatchlings fearing the water? Jobasha would like to see that!" He guffawed. "Was Quill-Weave one of said hatchlings?"

"Would you rather I toss you into the water to get you unafraid of it?" Smiling at Jobasha's pursed lips, she laid down on the deck of the ship with him, moving his head upwards.

"A nap?"

"Stargazing." Quill-Weave said. "Hatchlings would backstroke or even just float in the water, focusing on the stars. Sometimes the trees around them if it was a river, or the clouds if it was daytime. But my favorite was the night sky."

Jobasha unfurled his body flat, staring above. He squinted, and his eyes glimmered. "So… Any specific stars you see?"

"I see the Tower Sign." Quill-Weave murmured. "I remember I would get scared every time I swam until I did this with the Thief Sign over me."

"Interesting… Jobasha presumes you are a Thief?" He snickered. "Of course, the sign, not the profession."

"Maybe a bit of both. Field research can get dangerous, you know."

The two laid down in silence, watching the stars pass by, all surrounding the one visible moon. The waves brushed the boat in a therapeutic manner, the sounds of it hitting against the hull like music. Jobasha slowly felt his anxieties wash away, watching mostly the resplendence of Secunda in her crescent form, the stars dancing around her. He had no particular pull towards the stars as Quill-Weave obviously did, but with Secunda there, Jobasha could see how one could enjoy this.

Before Jobasha's eyelids grew too heavy, Quill-Weave spoke. "…So… what did Crassius say to get you to take the job?"

"Ah. Nothing much, just some extra persuasion. Promise of an adventure, time outside of Vivec, boring words." Too tired to dig deeper into his words, Quill-Weave looked at him as he asked, "What was the perverted one's angle on you? Jobasha can only assume the worst…"

Quill-Weave took a moment to figure out what she said, and after a few seconds, had to stifle a laughter. "Hah… no, no. I doubt I'm his type of… Argonian? Anyways, he didn't offer much. Just…" She smiled. "Just painted the mission is a better frame. Boring life as a writer, all these talents as an acrobat wasted, so on and so forth."

Jobasha opened his mouth to inquire more, but opted to look back at the night sky. His eyes fixated on a particular star, twinkling warmly and brightly. It was as if it was growing, with how radiant it was, as it slowly overtook Secunda, and…

It was coming their way.

"Look out!" A voice bellowed.

Quill-Weave flipped backwards, while Jobasha scampered in the other way, narrowly dodging the smoldering wooden beam. The two took a cursory glance, both on the ship and off into the sea.

The crew was in an uproar, bellowing orders and grabbing their weapons. S'virr himself pointed knelt behind the railing of the ship and pointed a crossbow off into the distance, where Jobasha's keen eyes saw another ship.

"W-what is happening?!" Jobasha asked S'virr, his fur standing on end.

S'virr clicked his tongue. "Reavers."

"Reavers?!" Quill-Weave exclaimed.

"Bandits. Ruthless ones as well. S'virr recommends these two hide."

Quill-Weave and Jobasha didn't need to be told twice. The two dashed their way past a burning flag now falling off the mast, barely getting singed by an incoming fireball. Jobasha put out the flame that sparked on his fur quickly as he and Quill-Weave broke into the captain's quarters.

They heard the boats colliding, and the yelling of the reavers growing louder.

"They've made it on the boat!" Quill-Weave hissed. "Where can we hide?!"

A scan of the quarters revealed not many good spots. All the chests that the flexible Khajiit could curl inside of were locked, and there was nowhere Quill-Weave's natural camouflage could help in the gaudy, orange-painted room. They heard the footsteps of a person grow closer to the door.

"I'll be checking in here! Make sure none of those Outlander N'wahs jump ship!" A sea-worn Dunmer walked in, bonemold-clad, axe in hand, and scar readily visible on his bald head. "Or at least, not without getting filled with arrows!"

He scanned the room, looking for any signs of life. "C'mon out now… I can hear you breathing." He murmured.

Jobasha took a deep breath and held it in, watching the Dunmer walk inside and close the doors behind him. The ceiling was hard to cling to; mold forming in the ceiling boards made it very slippery to hold on to. He'd have fallen straight on the reaver's head if he wasn't blessed with sharp-digging claws and a tail now wrapped around 3 ceiling boards.

Quill-Weave's hiding spot wasn't as lucky. She watched as the Dunmer's boots approached the bed. She held in her breath out of fear, and nearly made an "Eep!" sound as the mattress above her sunk and brushed her scales. _Don't look under the bed,_ she silently thought, as the reaver took a deep sigh.

"Hmm… Nice room. Good furniture. Might take this chair for myself…"

Quill-Weave peeked out of the opposite end of the bed from where the reaver sat. Distracted by the bits of jewelry in the box now in his lap, he didn't notice Jobasha stirring from the ceiling corner.

" _What do I do?!"_ Quill-Weave mouthed. It was hard to make out the words coming from a lipless Argonian.

" _Just stay still!"_ He mouthed back. _"Wait until he leaves!"_ It was equally hard to decipher the words mouthed from a Khajiit's feline mouth.

" _What?!"_

" _Stay still! When he leaves, these two will get out!"_

" _When skeevers get what?!"_

" _No, not weavils!"_ Jobasha sighed, and opened his mouth again. He stopped when he saw the incredulous look of the reaver, more confused than hostile at the two. "E-er…"

The three were quiet in the room, and then there was a sudden jolt. The reaver grabbed his axe and leapt onto the bed, bouncing himself close to Jobasha. His axe would have barely hit him if Jobasha hadn't dropped to the floor, dashing to the corner of the room where a cutlass was on display on the way. The reaver made his way, slowly, to Jobasha. Getting ready to charge, Quill-Weave saw her chance when he stepped on the rug. With a deft movement, the reaver was on the floor as Quill-Weave dashed out from under the bed, yanking the rug with her.

"G-gah! A sap-licker _and_ a fur-licker?!" The reaver's scowl twisted into a crooked smile as he stood himself up. "Today's my lucky day! Both of your tails will make good trophies!"

Jobasha had never held much weapons in his life before. He had to fight for his life sometimes, yes, working with the Twin Lamps on occasion. Those battles were usually tooth and claw, and fights to retreat out in the open. The cutlass did little for him in this tight space. Quill-Weave's acrobatic skills were at a loss here too. She struggled to find any way to escape. The door was blocked by the reaver, daring any of the two to run for it. There was no ready trap door she could see, and it wasn't like she had the time to search for one proper.

There was always the window, but that was probably a bad idea.

"Let's start with you first, lizard!"

The reaver leapt towards Quill-Weave, raising his axe above his head ready to cleave her in two. Quill-Weave quickly sidestepped, dodging a horizontal slash with a leap onto the bed. Jobasha managed to sneak behind the Reaver and just when the reaver lodged his axe into the headboard, Quill-Weave barely ducking under it. A pained cry erupted from the reaver, and when Quill-Weave slunk behind him to rejoin Jobasha, she saw why; Jobasha's cutlass had found its way through a slot of the armor, straight into his back.

"Y-you fe-fetchers!" He stammered, losing his rage slowly. "Boethiah… whew… Boethia take you…"

His breathing grew labored. He focused more on trying to stay alive, rather than give empty threats.

"E-er…" Jobasha stared, wide-eyed at the reaver. "Perhaps… Jobasha got carried away."

"We can't worry about that now! We can escape!" Quill-Weave took Jobasha by the claw. The two started out the door, but there was a knock on it just as soon as Jobasha nearly grasped the doorknob.

"Valyn!" A muffled voice said. "Are you doing okay?! You've been in here for a while!"

"E-er…" Looking at the reaver, nearly passed out on the bed, Quill-Weave coughed. "Um… _Yes!_ "

"Quill-Weave!" Jobasha whispered. "What are you doing?"

Quill-Weave's dunmer impression was a little shaky. She had the benefit of having the gravelly voice of an Argonian, but the mishap of being used to the light Cyrodiilic Dunmer accents, rather than the raw voice of Dunmer native to Morrowind.

"Are you alright, Valyn? You sound off…"

" _Y-yes! Just found some bad brandy!"_

"There's drink in there?!" The other voice sounded excited. "Well, bring it on out! We haven't had a good drink since we had port in Gnisis! Worst Greef ever there, I say…"

Jobasha and Quill-Weave looked at eachother, troubled. Quill-Weave's eyes glanced over to the window. Jobasha tensed when he saw where she was looking at.

"Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no…"

"It's either the window or the reavers!" Quill-Weave whisper-yelled.

"Valyn, are you sure you're alright in there?! We're coming in, just hang in there, whatever's going on!"

Three reavers barged into the room seconds later, using a smoldering piece of mast as a battering ram. "…Valyn? What happened to you?!"

The head reaver ran up to the impaled reaver, stammering. He opened his mouth, as if to explain, and then blacked out.

The yell sounded so muffled, so distant to the submerged beastfolk. That reaver must've been a good captain, as far as reavers go, because he took the injury of his fellow reavers quite well. Quill-Weave watched, cold appraisal of the situation masking her absolute panic.

She was content to stay under the water until the reavers left, but Jobasha wasn't. Jobasha squirmed and wriggled, finally opening his mouth in a scream. Quill-Weave dashed upwards, grabbing Jobasha with her, until they broke the surface of the water, just close to the hull of the ship.

Jobasha breathed heavily, looking outwards at sea rather than the half-burning ship. His breath turned into growing screams as it dawned on him that he was out in the water.

"…Huff… Agh! AGH!" Quill-Weave struggled to hold the Khajiit in her arms, as he was clawing up the side of the boat trying to climb aboard. "Help! We are going to sink!"

"Job- agh! Jobasha! Settle down, they'll hear you!"

Jobasha's clawing slowed down, his yelling coming back to deep breaths. "One… day… One day outside of Vivec, and we are attacked by pirates… And now we are lost in the water!"

"O-okay, settle down…" Quill-Weave coughed. "We're alive. That's good! That's… good…"

"Quill-Weave?"

"…Our stuff is on the boat, isn't it…?"

"Yes."

Quill-Weave sighed. "We can always get new stuff in Blacklight. Take a deep breath."

"What? Oh, no no no n-"

Quill-Weave plunged into the water, the sounds of Jobasha mid-scream cut off by the muffling waters.

* * *

"There's more north than here?! How much more north can you bloody go in Skyrim?!"

"I'm afraid directions aren't Candlehearth Hall's business. We're an inn," the innkeeper said. "You're either gonna haf'ta buy something if you're gonna stay."

"Hmph. It's dark anyways. The only thing worse than going farther north than here is going when I can't see." Alessia Ottus saw the inn in Whiterun as a haven now, compared to Candlehearth hall. Honestly, it was a wonder anyone could stand to live in Skyrim. The inside of the room was draftier than a perforated house in Bravil, and the ugly stone walls did no favor either.

After handing the innkeeper 10 septims, she hoped that her night would go undisturbed, the most distractions coming from the bard through the annoyingly echoing halls. Her bed was passable, but she exaggeratedly huddled while scowling at the cold.

"It's all going to be worth it, Alessia…" She muttered to herself as she nodded off to sleep. The bard wasn't too bad, come to think of it. The song was about one of the Nords' superstitions, something about a dragon, but the melody was quite soothing.

Alessia Caro fell fast asleep, unaware that a figure was watching her from outside the foggy window.


	4. Another Companion can't Hurt, Right?

Blacklight was seemingly untouched by the Oblivion Crisis. It seemed that the Redoran did a good job protecting the city. It was a thriving and bustling city, Dunmer selling their wares on the street while several of the many tourists from Skyrim now flooding in perused the wares. Jobasha and Quill-Weave were quite relieved to see that no one had bindings or masters tugging them along on leashes. They wouldn't stand out.

The first order of business was to dry themselves. The fire in their room at the Frozen Guar Cornerclub did a near-good job of drying them off, though Jobasha's fur stayed uncomfortably moist. Their mood was lightened greatly by some hot food – an odd mix of Skyrm-style Horker and Saltrice all fried together with some local vegetables. Of course, with having spent the money for the room and food, that left little remaining funds for clothes, save for some… substandard substitutes.

At least, Quill-Weave thought they were substandard as she constantly readjusted her chafing towel.

"In Elsweyr, it is common for communal nudity." Jobasha said, trying for the seventh time to persuade Quill-Weave to let him ditch the towel. An Argonian from Black Marsh may not have objected, but Anvil was a far stuffier and pretentious place when it came to nudity.

"Look, this towel is scratchy and uncomfortable and… and very, very small… But we're keeping these on until we find clothes. So aside from these towels and a warm bed for the night, what do we have?"

"These two have… er… Aha!"

"What the – Just _where_ were you hiding that lockpick?!"

"Spend time with the…" He pointed at two different candles on separate tables, contained in lanterns, "And you learn trade secrets."

"…Just what _is_ your involvement with them?" Quill-Weave said, carefully leaning over to check how dry their clothes were.

"Ah ah ah! Perhaps when we are out of Morrowind. Never know when a Telvanni is spying, yes?" Jobasha chuckled, exaggeratedly cupping a claw over his ear towards the window.

"Spying for runaway slaves, or nude people?" Quill-Weave scoffed jokingly. "Alright, alright… So aside from the lockpick?"

"Jobasha thinks there is nothing else."

"…Nothing at _all?_ "

Jobasha shook her head, Quill-Weave groaning. "Okay. So… We have no money – that we didn't have to pay for the room, mind you."

"No wares for sale."

" _No clothes-"_

"Enough about clothes!" Jobasha sighed. "Jobasha assumes we do not have the note Curio gave us?"

"Well, that got wet, yeah. _Buuuuuut_ …"

Jobasha raised an eyebrow at Quill-Weave, who moved the side of her towel. He was about to protest until he saw that there were words written on her upper leg. They were hard to make out, but he managed to catch glimpses of _College of Winterhold, Password: Barenziah in Daggerfall,_ and _The Frozen Hearth_.

Quill-Weave simply smirked as she readjusted her towel. "One time I was taking a break when I was studying something. A mudcrab stole my satchel with my notes while I was eating. Scales got used to the feeling of waterproof ink since then, just in case."

"Unorthodox, but… effective, Jobasha supposes." He murmured, looking back at the fire.

The silence went on for a while, being filled with an occasional sneeze or shiver from Jobasha and the crackling of the fire. For the moment, the two tried to forget about the reaver attack, but it kept nagging at the back of their heads, filling the room with an uncomfortable air.

"…Does Quill-Weave suppose the boat made it safely?"

"I'm… I'm really not sure." She sighed. "Our first day and we're attacked by pirates. It's all lot to take in."

Jobasha nodded in agreement, though out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed what he understood to be what passed for an Argonian's smile.

"Is Quill-Weave okay?"

Quill-Weave coughed, looking down. "I mean… It was exciting, wasn't it?"

"What?!"

" _Pirates_ , Jobasha! That's the stuff you hear about in books. I always thought I'd have to go to Stros M'Kai to see pirates."

"Quill-Weave…" Jobasha murmured. "How much does this one know about such things?"

"Such… things?"

"Pirates. Crime. All of that stuff."

Quill-Weave darted up from her chair, her towel barely falling off. "Ooh! Lots of stuff. I've done my research and-"

"Research aside." Jobasha said. "What is the term – _The nitty gritty_ of it. Having to duck from the law and such."

"E-er… Well, I never committed any _real_ crimes but I know lots of…" Quill-Weave sighed. "Discreet informants?"

Seeing Jobasha's tilted ears, Quill-Weave continued. "Not slavers or assassins or anything, of course. Just some beggars who get desperate and thieves and… skooma deale-"

"Skooma dealers?!"

"Just one!" She yelled, perhaps a bit too defensively. "Trust me, if there was a way to safely approach anyone higher up for material, I would. But I don't want to find myself a corpse washing up against Hammerfell's beach, or another slaver's product. By Oblivion, the worst I did was buy some drugs when I was a teen."

Jobasha raised an eyebrow. "Skooma?"

"N-no. Something else. Something a little… worse?" Quill-Weave coughed. "But that's the stuff I want to see! The real, gritty crime world!"

"All for the sake of books?"

"You sell books, don't you? The better and more accurate books people write, the more people buy them. And the more people buy them, the more septims you make. Right?"

Jobasha was silent for a while, wondering whether to agree with Quill-Weave or press further on her reckless viewpoint.

He opted to laugh instead. "Well, I'm sure this one will have a field day when Winterhold is in sight. Jobasha knows he will have much things he would write about, like that… white sand?"

"Y-you mean snow?" Quill-Weave said, stifling a laugh.

Jobasha scoffed, standing up and heading towards one of the two beds laid out for them. "Well, whatever it is called, these two will see it soon, no? Jobasha figures the earlier rest comes, the more light there is for… however we are getting to Winterhold."

Quill-Weave, as she took off her towel and slunk into the fur covers of the bed, suddenly had that thought dash through her mind.

"That's… a good question."

"It was not a question."

"Oh, you know what I mean!" Quill-Weave clamored. "I don't suppose there's an easy between here and Winterhold across borders?"

"And Jobasha figures there are no Silt Striders."

"You… You don't think we'll have to foot it, do we?"

Jobasha let out a yawn, reaching over to the lit candle on the nightstand separating the two beds. "I am sure there are ways to Winterhold that will reveal themselves come morning, yes? As for now, the moons are calling for me."

Quill-Weave, seeing Jobasha turn to the open window, sighed. The open window let in just enough moonlight from the pair in the sky, mingling across the stars.

It was a nice view to fall asleep to.

* * *

"Unless you're payin', I'm gonna have to go." The Dunmer bartender said, her tired eyelids being all she could see aside from the vague outline of two near-naked beastfolk. "I got lots of other… _clothed_ customers to serve, ya know."

"W won't take up much time!" Quill-Weave pleaded, putting on a big smile. "We were wondering if there was any transport to Winterhold in Skyrim. Preferably of the cheap variety?"

The bartender practically snorted as she laughed. It would be cute, Quill-Weave thought, if they weren't wearing towels. She felt very exposed in the environment, with people leering at them.

"Do not worry." Jobasha said, sitting against the bar and exposing his slim chest to the crowd. "They are mostly here for Jobasha."

Quill-Weave stifled a laugh. That did a little to ease her nerves.

"So that's a no, then?"

"Plenty of transport to Winterhold, yeah. Ever since the crisis there's been this annoying toll though. Some _S'wit_ thought it best to charge people for crossing from one ruin of a province to another. Unless you have fifty-something septims on you, I'd say you're out of luck."

As the bartender went to pour some drinks for actual paying customers, Jobasha sighed. "Jobasha hopes we can make that money quickly. The Perverted One said he would give extra rewards for an early delivery."

"As for how, though… Think we can board transport and sneak through, getting off just before the border?"

"Tsch… It is most risky. Many slaves are caught crossing the border by sneaking before they even cross the border."

The two sat at the bar thinking, occasionally spitballing ideas that were shut down by the other, until Jobasha pointed behind Quill-Weave

"We could always ask this one?"

Quill-Weave turned to face a blue-robed woman. A Nord, judging by her blond locks spilling from her hood and her tall figure. Her muscles, though thin, showed up on the torso of her robes. She was smart _and_ tough, then? Not to mention her nose—

"Quill-Weave!" Jobasha snapped his claws in front of her.

"Huh? What?"

"Look at the bookbag." He whispered. "It is the mark of Winterhold, yes?"

He was right. Three spiraling towers arising from a castle, sewn in the light blue bag with a dull yellow thread.

Tekla drank from her cup silently. It'd be the last cup of greef she'd enjoy before they left for Winterhold. Shame, too, since the stuff was just starting to grow on her. She'd supposed her trip here was good, considering the sacks and barrels full of Morrowind-specific alchemy ingredients in her room.

It was just a bit boring for what she expected a trip to Morrowind to be.

"Excuse me?"

Tekla looked at the Argonian now by her side.

"E-er… I get that Morrowind can be a wee bit hot at times, but I ain't sure it's towel weather, lass."

"Yeah, that's not important. So are you from the College?"

"Of Winterhold, I'm guessing that's what you mean. Yep!" Tekla flexed her fingers, sparks dancing between them. "Why? You lookin' to be a student?"

"Actually, we were hoping to look at the library there. The… _Arcaneum,_ I think it's called?"

Tekla raised an eyebrow. Putting on a smile and laughing nervously a bit, Quill-Weave tugged Jobasha's tail, which rested right behind her.

"These two are scholars, Miss Nord. Authors who wish to… expand their horizons, yes? There is a certainty that this Arcade—"

" _Arcaneum."_ Tekla corrected.

"Yes! We are certain that this Arcaneum will provide to us the spark we need!"

The mage sighed, downing her cup. "I'm… I'm sure you two are harmless, but it's not really College protocol to let non-members see the Arcaneum, unless they have some sort of grant."

Quill-Weave dug through her mind in an attempt to remember if Crassius said anything about clearance into the college. Aside from the password, she didn't recall anything, much to her frustration.

"Um…" Quill-Weave coughed. "We were actually hoping to find a specific book. Historical."

"Hmm? What is it? There's a good bookseller in Blacklight if it's just one book you're lookin' for."

"I forget the title, but I remember that it's about… _Barenziah in Daggerfall…_ "

Quill-Weave leaned in just a smidge, looking for any reaction from the woman.

"…Never heard of it."

 _Damn_.

Tekla sighed. "I'm sure the bookstore has it. But… If you really want to see the College, I can bring you to Winterhold. Is this a vacation for you two?"

"Similar, yes."

"Sort of like that." The two spoke simultaneously.

"… _Honeymoon?_ "

"W-what? No, just a—"

"I'm not... I'm not into..."

Holding in her laughter, Tekla started to stand up. "I can take you into Winterhold. I'm not sure how they'll let you in if you're not students though. At the very least, you'll enjoy Winterhold city itself?"

"So you'll take us?"

"Free of charge, as long as you can help on the road."

* * *

It was midday. Quill-Weave and Jobasha had helped their new companion Tekla loading ingredients and supplies onto a covered cart. It was obviously made for two people at the most – Tekla had apparently come alone – but it wouldn't be hard to fit the Argonian and the Khajiit on. It wasn't like they had much, anyways.

"I still demand to know where you were hiding that lockpick."

"Well right _now,_ Jobasha is hiding it in his new pockets!" Jobasha did a jovial spin, watching his blue robe open like a spinning ballgown. "This is a warm robe! Very good for what I assume Winterhold's weather will be!"

Quill-Weave picked at her own blue robe. It must have been woven with wool. There were all sorts of inner pockets for what she assumed holding spell reagents. She'd have to interview some mages for her books.

Already she could see her new character. A dashing Dunmer – no, Breton – pulling off heists regular thieves could only dream of with a simple wave of his hand and a few magic words. Of course, she didn't understand much about magic to write about it, but that's something her visit to the College of Winterhold will fix.

As Tekla fed an apple to the horse pulling the wagon, she lit the lantern hanging on the wagon with a wave of her hand.

"We'll be there in three days, if we're lucky."

"And what of these tolls? Payment is needed to enter Skyrim, yes?"

Tekla gave a smirk as she floated onto her horse. Quill-Weave was always saddened by the Levitation Act of 421, even though she wouldn't know how to tie her shoelaces with magic let alone cast a flying spell. Tekla seemed to enjoy the freedom of being able to cast such spells in Morrowind's territory.

"Don't worry about it." Tekla chuckled. "It's been paid for by the College, so long as I get what they sent me here for. And I…" Tekla shook one of the sacks behind her, full of comberries and canis root, "…Have everything and more."

"Jobasha finds these ingredients very… pungent."

"No offense, but so does Quill-Weave – so do _I!_ "Quill-Weave stammered. "I swear, the Khajiit dialect is contagious!"

"Well if you're already offput, I'd stay clear of the alchemical stations. They got decades on decades of stink."

As Tekla started scratching her horses head, she turned back as far as she could as she faced forward, towards Skyrim. As the horse started trotting off, Quill-Weave and Jobasha relaxed against some ingredient sacks. Staring at the sun now highest as it could be in the sky, Jobasha basked in it's warmth.

"Quill-Weave may as well enjoy the sun now." He said, handing Quil-Weave a small wineskin. "It may be the last seen until we leave Winterhold."

"…And where were you hiding _that?_ "

"Shh… Khajiit is relaxing…"

As Jobasha reclined on the sack, face to the sky with his eyes closed, Quill-Weave managed to get a peek of what was under his neck. It was hard to tell because of the fur, but she recalled a book where a detective could tell certain things behind a Khajiit's fur to find signs of a murder weapon.

Well, it wasn't a murder weapon of course. Whoever had tried to kill Jobasha obviously failed.

The mark still bothered Quill-Weave. It looked something like a whip, or even a rope. Squinting her eyes and staring closer, Quill-Weave soon found herself close to Jobasha's neck. It was faded by now, but it seemed like a scar.

She made a point to ask about it when they were off the road. For the next few hours of the trip, though, Quill-Weave's stomach sank thinking of what had happened to Jobasha.

* * *

Alessia skipped the carriage this go around. Kynareth had blessed her for todays journey, truly, for the road from Whiterun to Winterhold was full of warm sun and a breeze that at most cooled her.

Skyrim was… acceptable. Most of the time it was an icy dump, but there were certain places of natural beauty that Kynareth – or Kyne as the Nords apparently called her – decided to bless the land with. Volcanic tundras were on the top of her _To-Do List_ , but first she had a mission to do. She was sure seeing the Volcanic Tundras would be much more rewarding after witnessing the hellscape that must be Winterhold.

She sang to herself a hymn as she walked. The lyrics were a praise to the Divines, but the melody itself was catchy enough that many in Cyrodiil whistled it while they worked. Perhaps a call to Stendarr?"

Alessia was quite surprised when she heard someone whistle along with her.

"Who's there!" She demanded, looking around with a dagger she whipped out of her pack in her hand. "I-I'm warning you! I have a weapon and-"

"This one means no harm…" The Khajiit dropped whatever effect made him invisible. Humble brown robes and a bookbag well-past its limit. The Khajiit had a staff in one hand, and an open, surrendering palm.

"A mage, I see…" Alessia snorted.

"Please, take no offense to Khajiit. Khajiit simply loves the song you were singing. You are from Cyrodiil, yes? Your dialect is most familiar."

Surprised, Alessia coughed and regained her composure. "Yes. The Imperial City, specifically. You seem to be the… er… reading sort," she said as she eyed his book bag no doubt full of arcane scribbles. "Have you read any guides to the cities in Cyrodiil?"

"Er… not really. It is most hard to read anything other than research, usually." He laughed. Alessia sighed. Of course, a Khajiit decides to become literate and they never pick up the good books. Only the writings of wicked wizards.

"Well, then I suppose our business is complete then, unless you intend to tell me why you're stalking me?"

"Stalking? Khajiit would neve-"

"I am _married,_ you know."

"There is no intention of romance. _Thank Mara for that._ " He snorted back, crossing his arms. "This one noticed you were asking about Winterhold at the Bannered Mare, with no weapon aside from the letter opener you call a dagger in your basket. Khajiit thought, _'Hey, this woman will get herself killed by wolves or bandits or whatever nasty things lies behind the next stone over.'_ Khajiit was doing you a favor."

"Right, a favor. I'm perfectly safe, as you can bloody see, so—"

"Yes. Khajiit saw. Khajiit saw the bandits eyeing your valuable necklace and earrings, so Khajiit set their pants on fire and saw them run to a river. Khajiit saw wolves eyeing your fat head like a succulent sweetmeat, so Khajiit charmed them and saw them walk away. Khajiit saw approaching thief, so Khajiit cast a burden spell and saw him fall over under all the other stolen trinkets he carried."

Alessia was silent.

"This one is called J'Skar. Formerly of the Mages Guild's Bruma division, and a new student at the College of Winterhold."

Alessia looked at his extended hand. He… _seemed_ to mean no harm, but that's what all mages propagated their image as. Still, if it was to be of some help on the way to Winterhold, Alessia was sure she could tolerate the trip.

She wasn't shaking that furry little hand though. She still had standards.

"Alessia Ottus. Author. Imperial City." She curtly replied. "Let's move. I'd like to get this over with as soon as possible.


	5. A Stop on the Road

_To any good Imperal folk seeking Skyrim's untamed beauty – don't. Spare yourself the journey, for while there may be an occasional blessing in Skyrim, it is a hive of wretched debauchery the Nords pay no bother to. To any who visit regardless, or perhaps find themselves lost, then perhaps the best place to be lost in is Skyrim's major trade city. Of course, this criterion is not met through merit, but simple default._

 _My name is Alessia Ottus, and I'd like to tell you all about Whiterun._

"What is Alessia writing?" J'Skar asked, looking at the scribbling Alessia from the other side of their campfire.

"No business of yours." Was her curt reply.

"…So why is Alessia going to Windhelm. You do not seem to be of the spellcasting sort, no?"

"No business of yours."

"Right…"

It didn't take a master of mysticism to know Alessia was not one for conversation. J'Skar simply went back to turning the fish on the spit over the fire. The salmon fat dripped off the now-crispy meat. J'Skar wanted to devour it all – Skyrim had the best salmon. But his den-mother raised a gentlecat.

Holding a stick of salmon to Alessia, the Imperial slowly took it. Before eating, she made it a show of staring down the fish as if it were a toe. Sniffing it, poking it, holding it up to the light of the two moons, Alessia gave a curt thank you before nibbling in on it.

"This one will say why he is going to Winterhold if Alessia says her reasons. A fair trade, no?"

Frankly, Alessia would rather she didn't speak to the mage. Who knows what foul enchantment hid in his words. Still, she was raised properly. She wouldn't be the one to show bad manners.

"…Alright then. You first."

"As he said, J'Skar is a new student at Winterhold. Many in the Mage's Guild either split to other magic institutions when the Mage's Guild disbanded, and J'Skar chose Winterhold." He gave a toothy smile as he bit into his fish.

"Interesting choice of… er… _Instutution_. I'd figure the weather would be a bit uncomfortable for someone of your…"

"Oh, it is of no matter, no!" J'Skar said, reaching into his bag. Pulling out two fur coats, he tossed one towards Alessia. "Warm furs more suited to blocking the cold than absorbing the heat are plentiful on Skyrim's animals. Besides, it is the remoteness of Winterhold that J'Skar likes."

Seeing Alessia's puzzled face, J'Skar continued. "The Mages Guild, as all things are in Cyrodiil, was much too political. Too involved in matters it should not have touched, no? Winterhold is free from restriction. As long as one keeps their research from blowing anyone up, it is good for those who wish to learn, rather than control the use of magic."

Alessia's head started to hurt. Magic was a wicked thing, yes, but she'd never assumed there was more beyond its surface than people in dresses conjuring foul things from Oblivion. This was the first she'd ever heard of politics in magic.

"I… I see." Alessia coughed. "That's a sufficient answer, I suppose. I'm here to pick up an order."

"An order?"

"A book. My work has requested a special order and of all people, they sent _me_ to pick it up."

"Ah, inconvenient, no? J'Skar sighed. "What J'Skar would have gived for the Guild Guides in Vvardenfell's Mage's Guild."

"Guild what now?"

"Morrowind's Mage's Guild was truly amazing, from what I heard. Run by fat-headed moron who could not write two paragraphs on the Dwemer if his life depended on it, yes, but magic is free there. People are still free to cast flying spells there, and there were mages who could teleport you across Vvardenfell if J'Skar remembers his books right."

"Well, that's Morrowind. The Dunmer are quite careless with an already-treacherous tool like magic."

"Well, luckily, we are not dealing with much Dunmer in Winterhold." J'Skar, putting his skewer into the fire, snapped his fingers. The sleeping bag in his pack rolled by the campfire and unfurled itself.

Alessia sniffed in distaste, as she unfurled her sleeping bag with her own to hands, just as Stendarr would want. "Right. Like the Nords will be any better. Who knows what these brutes do with magic?"

"We will find out when we get there, no?"

* * *

Before yesterday's wagon ride, Quill-Weave and Jobasha had very different definitions of boredom. To Quill-Weave, boredom was sitting in her house in Anvil, stuck editing and writing her work she'd gotten from her more exciting field research sessions. To Jobasha, boredom was a slow day at his store where he'd spend more time reading his wares instead of selling them.

That definition was quickly changed to their current wagon ride.

"I'm not saying that I don't like the peace – I do!" Quill-Weave stammered defensively to Tekla. "But… It's the border of Skyrim and Morrowind. I was expecting something more…"

"Dangerous?" Tekla laughed. "Yeah, the Oblivion Crisis doesn't do any favors for the wildlife. Neither do soldiers from Skyrim and Morrowind parading around.

Jobasha's ears quipped, his tail freezing. "Soldiers? There are no soldiers here, yes? Jobasha would have smelled them!"

The two friends scanned their surroundings. They were on the closest thing to a road – a dirt path trodden with wheel tracks and hooves – surrounded by a dead looking region. Ice patches grew on the rocky gray ground, with no green in sight, save for Jobasha's motion-sick face two hours ago.

"Nah, they're close to the border. But hunting's pretty popular with them." Tekla sighed. "Trust me. I snuck some of their rations. They need the meat."

Sitting back down to nibble on a piece of stale bread, Quill-Weave looked up at the wagon's covering, put up recently so the snow wouldn't ruin Tekla's ingredients. And her two passengers, of course.

Mostly the ingredients.

"So… Winterhold…" Quill-Weave said, wracking her brain for any conversation topics.

"Yeah?"

"What's it like?"

In an instant, Tekla turned around with a beaming smile. "It's beautiful! There's a magic well in the center of the College that shines against the snow and ice and all the windows! It's like… looking at a painting, you know? Then when you go inside, the stations are all clean and stuff!"

The two couldn't help but think of the Mages Guild. Jobasha thought of the Foreign Quarter's Mage's Guild – namely, the clueless Archmage Trebonius who kept on ordering the wrong books from him about Dwemer and Chimer. Quill-Weave thought of Anvil's Guild; one of the Mage's Guild staunchest enemies of necromancy. They wondered what it was like in those buildings now that the Mages Guild had disbanded.

Seemingly on cue, Tekla continued. "We get a lotta new students now. Ex-Mages Guild. The ones who didn't go to the Synod or the College of Whispers."

"College of… what now?" Quill-Weave just _had_ to keep track of all these magic organizations if she was to write her new novel.

"Wee bit of a messy situation." Tekla sighed, turning back to the road. They seemed to be approaching a tower of wood and stone, a forest of pine trees miles past it. "That's why people like the College of Winterhold. No political bullshit there, you know?"

"Pfft. No need to tell Jobasha of politics." Jobasha stood up and stretched. "Morrowind's Houses give enough political drama for Quill-Weave to write a bestselling series."

"Wait, really?"

"Guys…"

"Yes. House Redoran is too stuffy to write any crime stories, but House Hlaalu fits the bill perfectly."

" _Guys…"_

"Then there is House Dres. They're slavers…" Jobasha spat the word. "I am sure you will find no shortage of their misdoings to write abou—"

"GUYS!"

Broken out of her brainstorming trance while she was coming up with Dunmer names for her new House Hlaalu noblewoman, Quill-Weave turned to face Tekla's direction. She saw nothing but a tower and trees in the distance, but Jobasha's feline eyes were keener.

"…Are the Nords…" Jobasha squinted, tensing his body. "Are the Nord's loading _arrows?_ "

"Uh… Yeah." Tekla coughed. "Border guard tensions are getting pretty high nowadays, since most of Morrowind's become a shitshow after the Crisis. If they see you, they're gonna ask for the toll money… Which I don't have."

"W-What do we do?" Quill-Weave stammered.

"Don't worry. I thought of it before we left Blacklight."

How anyone could fall asleep in this cold was beyond him. Still, there his partner was, sleeping with nothing but his spear in the ground supporting his standing form.

"Haldir… Haldir!"

A slap to the back of the helmet did a good job waking him up.

"Agh! What?!"

"You were sleeping again."

"O' course I was sleepin'! There's hardly anythin' to stand watch for! All the usual bandits died durin' the Daedra attack, we hunted all the deer until we scared 'em off, and the Dunmer refugees stopped tryin' ever since we put up these damn tolls!"

"Well, lucky day for you then, eh?" He pointed towards the approaching carriage.

"Halt!" Tekla pulled the reigns at the guard's behest. "What business have ye in Skyrim?"

"Hroar, was it? You remember me, right? I was leaving Wiinterhold two days ago for Blacklight." Tekla produced a scroll of paper from inside her robes. "An approved writ from Eilonwe, the head of the Mysticism Department. Same as I showed you before."

"And what business were you doing in Blacklight?" The other guard said.

"Picking ingredients. Your memories must be faulty today." Tekla smirked.

"Sorry, lass." The guard walked towards the wagon, entering through the back. "Orders of the High King. Even kinsmen are under suspicion."

As the guard patted down sacks of plant matter, opening the lids of barrels, Jobasha felt his heard beat. _Please don't open my barrel,_ he thought, as Tekla replied as if there was nothing to be suspicious of.

"Suspicious of what?"

"Honestly, wish I knew." Jobasha could hear the footsteps grow closer to his barrel. "Dunmer refugees… any remaining Mythic Dawn…" Each open lid was accompanied by a possibility. The guard didn't seem to care much for his job.

Jobasha could feel his heart stop for a few seconds when he felt his barrel jostle. He closed his eyes and readied himself for whatever was going to happen, but after a few more seconds passed, the Khajiit opened his eyes.

The Nord stared straight down at him for what seemed like a minute.

"…Surprised there are apples in Morrowind." Was what Jobasha thought he heard the guard say.

 _What?_

"Heh, yeah. Most are imports from Cyrodiil, but sometimes you find the right soil for apple trees."

Tekla gave a smirk as the guard shrugged. Placing the barrel lid down, the guard started to walk away when his boot caught on the wagon floor. Nearly stumbling, he looked behind him downwards to see a mess of some odd Morrowind plants. Long, thick grasses and leaves to the best of his knowledge.

"Well…" The guard hopped off the wagon, motioning for the other to let Tekla through. "Welcome back to Skyrim."

After Tekla stopped the wagon a good 2 miles away from the gate, Jobasha burst out of his barrel."

"What was that?!" He exclaimed. "Nord looked straight at me!"

Tekla smirked, as she snapped her fingers, bringing forth the illusory image of fruits in a pile by Jobasha's feet without even turning around. "He saw what I wanted him to see. Magic's a handy tool, ya know? Now c'mon, we gotta set up camp. Only thing worse than trying to throw fireballs at Ice Wraiths is throwing fireballs at Ice Wraiths you can't see."

The area they chose was just off the road. Just ahead was a snowy forest of pine, starting sparsely and growing denser as it escaped their horizon. Where they were, small hills of snow rolled smoothly without a single footstep or crease. As Jobasha started setting up unfamiliar tents made of furs, and as Tekla conjured a magic flame, Quill-Weave unstuck the finger the guard had stepped on from the floorboards of the wagon. Landing into the cold snow, she rolled out under it and walked up to Tekla.

"H-hey… Finger." Quill-Weave stammered, wincing in stinging pain. Her finger had a boot-print flattening it.

Motioning for Quill-Weave to sit down on a nearby log, Tekla closed her hands around Quill-Weave's hand. She barely heard it, but Quill-Weave heard Tekla whisper some sort of incantation as a warm energy danced around their hands. It felt like a kiss on a trivial papercut with the warmth it gave. As if she was dipping her finger in a balm of pure bottled sunlight.

"There we go. All better." Tekla opened her hands. Quill-Weave's finger was fine.

"Wow… I… I never get to see magic up close too much. The most I see are spells that unlock things."

"Well, get ready to see a lot of that at Winterhold." Tekla chuckled. "Now, what do we have for food?"

After 15 minutes, they had a meal. Tekla baked it in a closed pot by heating it with flames from her hands, moving it frequently and evenly. The product of this seemed to be average bread, but a bite into it and a cacophony of flavors hit Quill-Weave and Jobasha's mouths. Beef and potatoes with gravy and the slight taste of mead, mixed with the flaky crust of the bread, danced on their taste buds.

"This is delicious!" Quill-Weave exclaimed through a full mouth. "Do all mages eat like this?"

"Pfft. I wish!" Tekla took a small nibble of her meal. "Most mages are too wrapped up in their research to cook anything more than a potion, you know? I figured that if I can make things explode with a snap of my fingers, I should be able to eat more than pre-made horker jerky."

Quill-Weave and Jobasha both noticed the fact that they could see their breath now. The air was noticeably colder, though their new robes blocked out a lot of the weather. They were very much unused to the cold, as Quill-Weave stared in wonder at the now-falling snow, and as Jobasha squinted uneasily at it.

It seemed Tekla was far more comfortable with the cold, as she fell asleep by the fire with nothing but a thin fur blanket over her.

"…I… uh… I heard it gets colder in Winterhold." Quill-Weave said, wondering how Tekla could sleep with snow falling on her.

"Jobasha hopes not."

The two nibbled away at their meals in silence. Tekla really was a good cook, and Jobasha's constant smile as he dug his fangs in displayed that.

Quill-Weave couldn't help it. Tekla was asleep now. It was just them.

"Your neck…" She muttered.

"Hmm?"

Quill-Weave scooted over to Jobasha, peering under his chin. Sure enough, the linear mark across his line was there, well-hidden behind his fur. His fur had grown more coarse and shorter across the mark.

"Your neck." Quill-Weave spoke clearly this time. "What happened?"

Jobasha, after a stunned second-long pause, gave a half-hearted chuckle as he ate the last of his meal. "Outside of the cities, Vvardenfell is dangerous."

"Come on, that's hardly an answer. What happened? It happened… at least 5 years ago, right?"

"What?"

"Uh… Detective novels. They're full of random information, including injuries."

"…Six years." Jobasha said, mock-wincing as he pressed his paw against the back of his neck. "Someone found out Jobasha helped free some slaves. They were not happy."

Quill-Weave wanted to press further, but she figured Jobasha wouldn't want her to. She'd taken an interest in the wound – for once, it wasn't the usual detached writer's interest. When she'd researched injustice and the atrocities done to and by the lower classes, she'd remained stony-faced. She'd only taken the information from her research.

Now that her new friend had one of the many wounds she'd written into her characters himself, Quill-Weave felt a twist in her gut.

She really didn't know about the world she wrote about. Not truly.

 _There's a time and place Quill! Jobasha was almost hanged to death!_

Sighing, Quill-Weave gave Jobasha the last of her meal. "I'm not too hungry."

Seeing her manage a small smile, Jobasha shrugged and started nibbling on the stew-filled bread.

"You know what Skyrim needs?" Jobasha chuckled. "Spices. Good for the cold."

The fire crackled down well after the two fell asleep. Jobasha and Quill-Weave had to drag a sleeping Tekla into the covered wagon, close enough to the fire to stay warm and still out of the snow. The three in their separate bedrolls, it seemed like it would be a pleasant night.

Nope.

They were awoken by the smell of fire. The first to leap out of his sleeping bag – well, Jobasha never slept in a bedroll before, seeing as he desperately clawed his way through the furs and cloths – Jobasha let out a screech that alerted the others.

"Fire!" He exclaimed _"Rahjin Kodesh!"_

"What?!" Tekla, still confused and hazy upon waking, started blasting frost from her hands. The wagon's cover grew heavy and tore as it froze, but it was still better than a flaming tent.

Quill-Weave looked out the wagon. The campfire was out.

"…I…" Quill-Weave squinted as her eyes moved past their immediate surroundings, looking to the surrounding trees. "I see someone!"

In an instant, as the last spark disappeared, Tekla clapped her hands with a wide gesture. The campfire glowed again, not with heat-giving flame, but with a harmless light. It reached farther than a normal firelight, banishing away the shadows made by the trees. As vision blurred, the only dark left was the dark of a stranger's robes. An Altmer, judging from his towering height and wisp-thin build, though any other feature was obscured by simple purple robes.

He said nothing as Tekla hopped off the wagon.

"What. In. OBLIVION?!" She roared, the beginnings of another frost spell forming in her hand. As soon as it appeared, it fizzled out. It seemed like a pain rushed through Tekla's hand as the stranger merely lifted a finger.

He then pointed the finger towards Quill-Weave and Jobasha.

"What the—"

Jobasha grabbed Quill-Weave and darted off the wagon before the whole wagon fell victim to fiery combustion. The smell of burning wood and ingredients filled the area.

"You are wanted," The cold, methodical, and quiet voice of the stranger said, "By our organization for conspiring in crimes against Tamriel with the known corrupter Crassius Curio."

"…What." Was all Quill-Weave could manage, breathing heavily as she reached for a dagger hidden in her robes.

The stranger took one step forward, raising a flaming finger. Quill-Weave, Jobasha, and Tekla took two steps back, raising blade, claw, and spell. Out the corner of her eye, Quill-Weave saw Jobasha crouch low, nearly to the ground.

"You are Quill-Weave and Jobasha, of Anvil and Vivec City respectively, no?"

"That is… true." Jobasha hissed. "Why does the rude mage wish to know?"

"Crassius Curio has sent you on a mission to Winterhold to acquire a rare copy of _'The Real Barenziah.,'_ and I am here to ensure you do not complete his mission."

The three remaining silent, he continued. "My intention was to end it quickly, but now that we seem to be in a negotiating stance, I give you two options. One is that I will let you leave with your lives. You will never speak of this incident or of this… _escapade_ , so to speak."

"…And… And the other choice?" Quill-Weave stammered.

"I blow you up." He coughed under his hood. "I take no pleasure in it, if it would make your death easier."

"Thanks, it doesn't." Tekla turned to face Quill-Weave. "What's going on?"

"Umm…"

"Ah, I see that… _Tekla Frosthammer."_ He spoke her name as if he read it off a slip of paper.

Uncomfortably, the three looked around for anything that could help them. The wagon was in flames. He was clearly a better mage than Tekla, seeing how effortless he countered her spell.

Then Quill-Weave noticed Jobasha was missing.

"HeeeyAAAAGH!" Came the Khajiit's screech when he leapt from the tree above the stranger. How he'd snuck up there, she had no idea, but Jobasha clawed into his back and tore his hood down in one deft swipe.

The stranger arched back in pain, stomping his food and pushing Jobasha hard into a tree with a thundering force. "You… You low-born bastard!"

Quill-Weave could now see his face. Thin and gold, as most Altmer's faces are. This man kept his long and equally-golden hair tied into a ponytail. Most jarring was his missing eye, covered by a simple gray bandage.

Snarling, the Altmer sparked his hands to create another fireball, but Tekla took Jobasha's distraction to her advantage.

She was going to see it then! The might of a mage. Lightning coursing through her hands? Can she paralyze him? She'd heard mages could do that. Would Tekla summon something from Oblivion? If Quill-Weave was going to write about mages, this is as best of a field research session she could get.

Tekla didn't cast any spells however.

The Altmer hit the floor the moment Tekla's hammer struck his temple.

"…Where were you hiding that?"

"In my robe sleeves!" Tekla twirled the weapon in her hand, the enchanted mists of frost following its trail. "…What? I'm still a Nord, ya know."

"Right, well what do these three do with rude Altmer?" Jobasha unstuck himself from the Khajiit-sized crater in the tree, walking to the other two. "More importantly, who is this?"

Quill-Weave sighed. "He's… He's a spellcaster. Maybe the College will know something?"

Tekla could only shrug her shoulders as she begun loading their assailant into the wagon.


	6. The Arcaneum

"Family heirloom. My ma and pa wanted me to follow in their footsteps. Be a great warrior, ya know?" Tekla sighed wistfully as they approached Winterhold. "Of course, magic was my passion… But sometimes, nothing beats the feeling of skulls cracking under a heavy hammer!"

"Um…"

"Er… The baddies' skulls, I mean. Bandits and undead."

Quill-Weave hummed in approval. "So when we get to Winterhold, first things first we need to take care of… Jobasha?"

Jobasha peeped up from behind the slumped figure of their Altmer assailant. "No signs of this one's identity. He is a wizard, and he is an Altmer. Not much deviation, to Jobasha's understanding."

"I'll ask the College, but for the time being, we're gonna have to leave him with the guards… Speak of the Daedra."

Quill-Weave and Jobasha peeked over Tekla's shoulders to see they were approaching a great walled city. Somber-colored, it was a gray monolith against the dead white of the landscape. From the weathered stone walls to the vague figures of the walking guards above, one thing managed to stand out; The pale-blue banners of a three-spiraled castle.

"It's… Interesting?"

"You don't have to lie, Quill. It's pretty shitty." Tekla sighed. "It's in the ass-end of Skyrim… Though I guess that's why we like it, with all the quiet."

"It is well protected, if not pretty to look at." Jobasha mused. "Why, Jobasha is sure only an earthquake could do damage to Winterhold, yes? Many guards and walls of stone indeed."

"Pfft. Like that would happen." Tekla scoffed, smiling.

Tekla stopped the cart at the behest of two guards. Unlike their previous encounter, they only took one look at the mage before letting her through. Quill-Weave figured they would be quite familiar with Tekla if she went out for ingredients often.

The Altmer was dropped off with three guards, just outside of the barracks.

"He is most fond of fire spells…" Jobasha purred.

"Yes." Tekla said. "Bind his hands. When he wakes, send a message to the College. Tell them to look for the Khajiit and Argonian."

The town itself was sturdy, if not dull and bleak. Weathered cottages with firelight dancing on the hazy windows. The people who worked outside paid no mind to the wagon as it stopped next to an arch that gave way to a grand stone bridge.

Quill-Weave and Jobasha could see it now. A large stone citadel with several pillars of arcane light piercing the gray clouds.

The College of Winterhold.

* * *

"It's a beautiful institution. Learning unfettered by politics is so rare these days, honestly..." Tekla said as she walked with the two beastfolk. They blended in well with their robes, though they were hard-pressed to find any other tailed people there. Hopefully they wouldn't stick out.

The College itself was interesting. The courtyard had a great well of some magic looking thing with the greatest pillar of magic light, shining on the statue of a mage. It gave of the grand illusion of the mage statue harnessing the power of Aetherius. Many students sat in the courtyard, bundled in scarves and mittens as their books floated in the air without their cozy hands having to be in the cold air. Many were studying the alchemical plants that grew in the courtyard.

The two noticed something. There was a conglomeration of elves leaving the College. There was about one or two Altmer, but the majority were Dunmer, dressed in furs and carrying bags and walking by summoned servants to hold their belongings. The tension in the courtyard was obviously high for the moment that they walked out.

"Lots of Dunmer here." Tekla said, her voice more somber. "We're right by Morrowind… Though after the Crisis, lots of Dunmer students started packing up."

"Why?"

"Eh… The locals don't like us too much." Tekla sighed. "Magic was never Skyrim's strong suit when it came to acceptance. We only got worse reputation after the crisis, and the elves get the most flak."

Quill-Weave looked back, as she walked, at the procession of elves. They all seemed dejected, scared to walk out in front of the locals of Winterhold. Jobasha didn't look, but he felt a twinge of sympathy in his heart.

Inside, before they opened the grate with the eye into what they assumed to be a training hall, seeing apprentices cast spells at motes of light, Tekla quickly turned them to the side door.

"H-hey!"

"Sorry Jobasha. We need to get through this as quick as possible. Visitors aren't exactly common here."

"Well," Quill-Weave said. "Our… _employer_ , says that the head of the Arcaneum is expecting visitors."

"Head of the Arcaneum? Hah, he's a friendly guy. He'll expect anyone - with a fresh pie if the College put an oven in the Arcaneum."

The Arcaneum itself was an impressive collection of tomes. Many books were floating aimlessly in the air, organizing themselves into their shelves. All sorts of anthologies were found here, and not all were about magic. As Quill-Weave and Jobasha walked through the library, they caught glimpses of the words in some books – stories of crime, romance, adventure, and passion.

"So… Here you are." Tekla said, beaming. "Greatest collection of written work in Skyrim, right before your eyes!"

"It's… Astounding." Quill-Weave whispered, wide-eyed.

"I wonder how much these books all cost…" Jobasha mused, caressing a slowly-drifting book of soft velvet as it drifted by.

Tekla patted the two on the shoulders. "Well, you two do what you need to. I'm gonna check up on our Elf friend – see if he's up and ready to talk."

"Be careful. Jobasha is worried he would still be dangerous, even in binds."

"Don't worry. If the guards are smart, they'll take the precautions." As Tekla turned and walked out, she smiled. "The guards in this city know how to deal with mages. Trust me – I know from experience."

As she left, Quill-Weave's eyes darted at a bunch of other floating books, until she was snapped out of it by Jobasha.

"Crush?"

"What?"

"Crush! You know…" Jobasha made a heart gesture with his paws. "You and the Nord…?"

"O-Oh, no! I…" Quill-Weave coughed, uncomfortable at the sudden gaze of one apprentice on her. "I'm… She's pretty, yes, but I have someone else in mind."

Jobasha darted in front of her face. "What?! Why did I not know of this?!"

"Pfft…" Happy the scales tipped in her favor, Quill-Weave smiled and walked towards the counter of the Arcaneum. "You never asked. Now come on, Jobasha, we have a job to do."

Pouting, the now-curious Jobasha slunk next to Quill-Weave at the counter. Quill-Weave looked over it to see a Half-Orc in a robe, reading a tome through inch-thick glasses.

"…Er…" Quill-Weave coughed. "Hello?"

The Half-Orc looked up. He was old, wrinkles in places that indicated that this was an Orc who liked to laugh.

"Ah! New students? I haven't seen your faces before!" He boomed. "I'm Garok gro-Shub, and as students here, I'm quite afraid you'll be seeing quite a lot of me! Now, don't tell me… Alteration? A new student of Dubois?"

He motioned to Jobasha, who held up his hands. "Not quite. You see—"

"Destruction? I imagine that the fur would be a bit too flammable, but you'd be surprised what some fire resistance enchantments can—"

"We have need of—"

"Restoration, then! Merathi recommends a certain essay writ—"

"Mr. gro-Shub!" Quill-Weave stammered, waving her hands in a motion to keep their voices quiet. "We're not students. We're… Looking for a book in particular?"

"Yes?"

"It's about…" Quill-Weave leaned in, ensuring no-one heard them. "… _Barenziah in Daggerfall._ "

There was a silence. The smile softened on the Orc's face, no longer welcoming but a knowing smile. He closed his book. "I see we share a mutual friend."

"Friend is not the word I would use for the perverted one, yes?"

"He's more of our… master?"

"That sounds dirty…" Jobasha said, keeping a paw over his snickering mouth.

"Well, our mutual employer, perhaps?" The orc said, waving his hands apart and grinning widely. He then leaned in closer to the two, quieting his booming voice to nothing but a whisper. "I heard the Omenwede Jr. was attacked?"

"Er… yes." Quill-Weave coughed. "We haven't any transport to Vvardenfell."

"Aha, no matter at all! I'd be happy to purchase some transport back!"

Jobasha rested his arms on the counter. "Such a kind orc, this one is, yes? However, these two are in very much of a hurry. Jobasha hates to cut the pleasantries short, but…"

With a wordless smile, Garok gro-Shub reached into the drawers of his desk. He pulled out a nondescript, book-shaped package wrapped in a brown wax paper and placed it on the desk, sliding it towards the two.

Quill-Weave slowly took the package. Before she even started unwrapping it, the Orc raised a hand.

"Uh, uh! It's in there, trust me." He smiled. "Crassius prefers his packages mint-packed."

As Quill-Weave nodded in silent agreement, tucking it away in her coat, Jobasha sat back on the desk, turning his neck to face the Orc. "So… how long have you been dealing with the perverted one?"

"He donates often to the Arcaneum." gro-Shub chuckled. "He's an expert on subjects, despite what his usual works say. He understands humanoid biology almost as well as our own Professor Merathi, and I can count the number of spells he knows on one hand."

"So…" Quill-Weave looked around the Arcaneum. "We have what we came for… Mr. gro-Shub, it'd be fine if we stay a while, right?"

Jobasha simply mouthed the words _"Author,"_ while covertly pointing his thumb claw at Jobasa.

"Why, of course!" He stood up. "Regardless of the College's selectionism, the Arcaneum is the domain of the gro-Shub family! All are free to the knowledge in this hall!"

* * *

The College of Winterhold was about as foul as she imagined Alessia didn't care much for her current disguise – a fur-llined robe about as fashionable as a dead rat on her head.

Right now, she was climbing up the stairs with J'Skarr.

"You will be fine without me, Alessia?"

"I will be _quite_ fine, J'Skarr." She curtly replied. "The… Arcaneum? It's the next door up, I believe."

As they stopped at the next door upwards, J'Skarr and Alessia both took a deep breath.

"I—"

Before J'skarr got a word out, Alessia was already through the door.

She walked into the Arcaneum to see foul magic at powerful work. Books floating in the air, no doubt filled with foul and blasphemous scribblings. A few wizards pored through these tomes as if their life depended on it. She opted to ignore these people as she walked up to the counter, facing the Orc that seemed to work behind it.

Funny. She didn't meet much reading orcs.

"Um… Excuse me?"

The Orc looked up at her, baring his ugly teeth with a foul grin. "Ah! What can I help you with?"

" _Barenziah in Daggerfall."_ Alessia said. "Make it snappy."

"…Um… Crassius' hired help?"

"… _Yyyyyes?"_

Confusedly, the Orc pointed to two tailed, robed figures. The Argonian had about 5 books in her arms, while the Khajiit looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but here – a notion that Alessia shared very well.

She took a deep breath and walked up to the two.

"Um… Excuse me?"

"Hmm?" The Argonian turned to Alessia. "Oh, sorry! Did you need one of these books? I never knew there was so much… well… _science_ , behind magic."

"Er… Right." Alessia coughed. "According to that Orc—"

"gro-Shub." The Khajiit interjected.

"Y-yes, him. You two have a package?" Alessia extended her hand. "I _politely_ request it."

Quill-Weave and Jobasha were at a loss. This random woman had just demanded their source of payment out of nowhere. Quill-Weave squinted, getting a better look at the woman's face in the moving light of the Arcaneum.

"You seem very familiar…" Quill-Weave thought for only a moment before she dropped all the books in her hand. "Y-You!"

Standing up, Alessia and Quill-Weave pointed at each other.

"That wretched author!"

"That wretched author!"

They both yelled simultaneously, attracting the attention of nearly all the apprentices in the Arcaneum.

"What in the Divines' holy names are you doing in Winterhold?!" Alessia demanded.

"I could ask the same of you, Ottus!"

"E-er… Jobasha requires context?"

Quill-Weave turned to Jobasha. "This woman is a known bigot who taints Cyrodiil with her books!"

Alessia simply snorted. "Bigot? How dare you?! Those bold words coming from the lips of a degenerate like you!"

"H-hey…" Garok gro-Shub had approached, holding his hands in a peaceful manner. "There's no need for hostility in the Arcaneum…"

Alessia and Quill-Weave both took deep breaths, taking seats opposite of each other. Jobasha stayed at Quill-Weave's side, leaning on her armchair, while the two authors crossed their arms.

"Now, tell me if I'm right." Alessia casually brushed aside a book floating near her face. "You're on a job from one of the heathen Houses of Morrowind. You were sent here to find a pornographic transcript on behalf of a smut writer in exchange for gold. Is this correct?"

"Y-yes!" Quill-Weave stammered. "Well… Half of that. We only knew of half of that… Divines damn you, Curio, you never gave us the full story…"

"How does this one know more than these two?"

"What depths you people will go to…Now unlike this… Crassius Curio, my employer will ensure that your package is dealt in a way pleasing to the people of Tamriel."

"Pleasing to the people of Tamriel…?"

"If it's a pornography, I think Tamriel would enjoy it, yes?" Jobasha said.

"The _good_ people of Tamriel." Alessia sighed. "Do you know what is in that package, Quill-Weave?"

"…A smut book, apparently. I figured it was _"The Real Barenziah,"_ given the code we were given."

"Specifically, a transcript of _The Real Barenziah_ that wasn't censored." Alessia grimaced. "It describes an… intercourse-heavy interaction with a Khajiit – of all things – and therefore my employer has deemed it unholy and a work that needs to be destroyed before one such as Crassius Curio can lay his grubby little hands on it."

There was a palpable silence in the Arcaneum, followed by the laughter of everyone in the Arcaneum.

Alessia, bothered by the howling laughter, banged her fist on the nearby table. "And just _what_ is so bloody funny?!"

"All this… whew…" Quill-Weave took a moment to let her breath-heavy laughter die down. "All this trouble to track this book down… Because you don't like smut?"

"It is MORE THAN THAT!"Alessia suddenly stood up, silence uncomfortably filling the room, grabbing Quill-Weave by the hood of her robe. "This runs far, far deeper than your reptilian mind can comprehend! This is one of many victories for the Order of Just Oration, and for as little consequence you believe a simplE transcript of a smut-ridden book can be, this is one of many steps that we must burn for the good of Tamriel! Now GIVE ME THE PACKAGE, LIZARD!"

Breathing heavily, Alessia seemed to notice just now she was holding Quill-Weave against the bookshelf. The rage in her eyes vanishing, she also took notice of the ice-cold hammer by her temple.

"Let. Her. Go." Was Tekla's order. "Quill. You alright?"

Quill-Weave, fear remaining in her system, could only nod.

"Tekla?!" Jobasha stammered. "Is the Altmer safely kept?"

"He's gone!" She growled at Alessia. "And I think it has something to do with _you_."

"…And who might you be?"

"A friend of said _"Lizard."_ You'd better let go of her, yeah? And tell me where that Elf is!"

"Hmph." Alessia sharply released her hand from Quill-Weave's robe, taking a step back. She took a quick glance about the room. All the apprentices had their eyes on them, except for one. A hooded figure currently reading a purple book with the insignia of the Conjuration School. Alessia had also noticed a shadow darting through the rafters.

Perfect.

"I… I believe you should be leaving now." The Orc stammered, a notion aided by Tekla's hammer pressed closer to her.

"And I, believe me, have every intent to leave this place so devoid of the virtues of the Divines… Unfortunately, I do require that transcript, so… Verela? Sarrabi?"

In an instant, the hooded apprentice had suddenly appeared in between Alessia and Tekla. With a snap of her fingers, Tekla was surrounded by the apparitions of 5 floating purple daedric swords, each one pointed to a vital part of her body.

Struggling to speak with the bound sword at her throat, Tekla dropped her hammer in a motion of surrender.

"Good." Was all the figure had whispered.

"Verela, we need to go. Does the cat have it yet?"

"Of course she does!" Came the yell from behind them. A Khajiit, dressed in brown thief's wear and a cape, held a wax-paper package in her claws.

"The book!" Quill-Weave yelled, patting down her robe. "How did you—"

"Listen here and listen well!" The Khajiit bellowed, stepping on a table to give her a sense of grandeur. "The Order of Just Oration is here! You mages better watch out, or else we'll come and get you all!"

"Quite right!" Alessia said proudly, taking the package and putting it in her winter robe. "Sarrabi? Verela? Any parting words?"

"Just two…" The figure, Verela, said.

Snapping her fingers, the Altmer who had attacked Quill-Weave and Jobasha had now burst into the Arcaneum in a puff of smoke, much to Tekla, Quill-Weave, and Jobasha's surprise. His chains were broken and his cloth gag was now around his neck. He smiled wickedly as a large fireball in his hands compressed into a small sphere of light.

A delayed fireball. It would set off in a few seconds.

"Find cover."

* * *

Having teleported outside, the four landed in the snowy mountains outside of Winterhold, just close enough to see the explosion in the Arcaneum burst through the windows.

Cackling, the Altmer brushed his long, frazzled hair away from his mad eyes. "I've wanted to hit those College bastards for years!"

"Yes, well…" Alessia Ottus dusted herself off, looking at the package. "I never expected to run into that Argonian again… and here of all places…"

"Ottus!" The gray-furred Khajiit put her arms around her, much to her dismay. "Congratulations! You are now a member of the Order of Just Oration!"

"Yes." The hooded figure took her hood off, revealing a stone-faced Dunmer woman with short, red hair. "Celebration."

"But first." The Altmer swooped in and took the book from Alessia's hands, much to her displeasure. "We take this to Paralian…"

"I don't suppose you can teleport us all the way to the Imperial City?" Alessia said to the Dunmer.

"Yes."

"Wh-what?! Why didn't you in the first bloody place?"

"Test." She pointed to Alessia. "Your test. You passed. Test over."

"I figured you weren't one for magic?" The Khajiit teased.

"Well… Anything to get out of this cold as soon as bloody possible…"

Alessia looked back at the college, part of it on fire. She gave a small sigh of relief. People were hurt, yes, but all for the greater good. Those wicked tomes would teach their lies no longer.

She gave a crooked smile as the Dunmer teleported them to the Imperial City.


End file.
